Niño Raro

"All that is solid melts into air"
-Marx and Engels,  Manifesto of the Communist Party (1848)

There is a force that holds everything together. Everything, force together, holds, would Yoda say. Force everything together holds something, there is. Force the hold everything is there together. there there, where? how? which? what kind? &c...

So I'm reading about power and systems and I start thinking that without rules and a certain law to reinforce the under-lying structure(s), everything falls apart. A "force" seems to be regulated by some sort of rule(s), it seems. Sort of like sentences that have to do with grammar rules. Or, for instance, your gradual, physical decay--a matter of entropy rules. And Matter? Subatomic particle rules. Capitalism? Machiavellian rules, perhaps.

"So...what's the matter?" 

said the stranger next to the piscean eye'd man breathing out hot air,

 lost in thought (and lost indeed),  and

staring at a small peanut shell

that lay on the floor.

"Oh...just thinking that there is nothing between us---

Nothing but empty space"

"oh...but I guess that's still something"

"I guess...well, now that you mentioned it,

you're stepping on something"

Nothing as something, and something as nothing.
Abstractions and dust. Dusty abstractions.
Decorated value. Funny money.
Marionette Dummies. Bloody countries.
For Golden Honey. Simulation and Simulacra.

"What? where?"

"Here"
He pointed to the "string" reeling out from underneath his black boot
to
her black heels.

"Can you see it? here, follow my hand"

"I don't see anything. You're crazy, and weird...you know that?"

"Yeah...

my dear mother would often reminded me.

She'd say, a que raro eres, especially

when I'd go out to stare at ant colonies"

"ant colonies!?"

"yeah, I know...it's weird. And, I don't really know why.
I think it was the organization of it all:
The unity of something that seemed so fragile"

"hmm, interesting"
"meh, it's nothing. c'mon, let's go decay together and pass time"
"that's all?"
"yeah, what else do you want?"
"I'd like to make love"
"shit out of luck, I don't know what that is; I mean, in theory I guess"
"fuck your theories; c'm~oooon"

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity

[...]
Surely some revelation is at hand"

-William Butler Yeats, The Second Coming (1920).